


The Blue Ionian Sea

by scorpionfish



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: (Not Even's Slave), Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Greece, Blood and Violence, Extravagent!Even, King!Even, Lonely!Isak, Multi, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship, Slave!Isak, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-05-02 06:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14538390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpionfish/pseuds/scorpionfish
Summary: Even hadn't planned on going to the palace. When the messenger arrived a few days ago, he had every intent to laugh in his face and send him back running. He went on business terms. Trade negotiations and talks of war. It was nothing of interest to him, and he didn't wish to stay long.But when his eyes meet those of a blond haired slave boy, he suddenly cannot bear the thought of leaving.





	1. Threat and Thievery

(Just so you know, the island of Scherie is also known as Phaeacia.)

The Prelude

"It's a huge risk, Neoptolemus, and you know it. You've got to stop acting upon impulse like this. What's the point of being King if you never get a chance to sit on the throne?"  
"You're foolish Nestor! Do you even know me at all? What I choose to do with my kingdom, is none of your concern. I will not stop until my name is sung by the Muse, until my fame reaches the heavens- even Zeus shall bow before me!"  
Nestor flinched. He did not care for this man or his hybris. He had already tarnished his friend's glorious name with his pointless wars and bloodlust. Clearly, he had no respect for the gods, and therefore, Nestor had no respect for him. He was simply here, because it had been Achilles, beloved Achilles', wish to protect his son. But in his old age, Nestor was no match for Neoptolemus. He bowed in disappointment, and offered one last attempt.  
"But summoning the King Of Scherie? You surely cannot be this lacking in judgement to invite him onto your land. He's barbaric, deadly-"  
"I can handle him Nestor. I am Achilles' son after all."  
This was the same excuse he used time and time again. But in his heart, Nestor knew that he was nothing like his father.  
And Nestor was the only man who knew of Achilles' other son.

\------------

A messenger on horseback was sent out that night, headed for Scherie. It would take days for him to even arrive at the border, and getting past it was a whole other challenge. It wasn't that Neoptolemus wasn't famed enough, more... not well liked. He didn't have many friends. Him and the Phaeacian King had that in common at least. It was rare to come across someone who had met the man. A recluse, but a dangerous one at that. The whole of the Peloponnese had heard the tales of his merciless killings, his reign of terror. Unlike Neoptolemus, who sat behind his army, the King never shied away from a battle. And yet, no-one knew of his face. 

In the unlikely event that he would actually arrive, the palace needed a thorough clean. Although he liked his jewels and gold, Neoptolemus was a simple man who saw no need for decoration or drapery. He only cared for size and slaves. He kept over 250 of them in his palace- out of the way of course. Many were slave-born, others orphans. Isak was the latter.

Despite his King's brutality and impatience, Isak didn't mind his position as a slave. Sure, the work was back breaking: scrubbing floors, sharpening swords, clearing out the horse pens. but he got to spend his days with 194 and 201 (better known to him as Jonas and Magnus.) See, they weren't allowed to keep their real names, it was too confusing for the slave masters who had to deal with 6 different Ajax's. So they were numbered in age order, and Isak was the youngest of the three. Number 221. This is how they had to refer to each other in public- if they were allowed to speak at all. But one cold night last winter as they were huddled around the fire in the slave quarters, the dark haired boy lent over, his eyes darting around to check that no-one else was listening. Right in Isak's ear he whispered 'Jonas. My name's Jonas.' He wasn't expecting 221 to tell him his name, he just needed someone, anyone, to know. To be a reminder of his past, his free childhood, before he was caught for stealing and hauled to the palace for a life of work. He wasn't ready to tell 221 that part. 

The boy's breath hitched. It felt so personal to be the one Jonas confided in, and he knew right then and there that Jonas was his best friend, who he would trust with his life. He risked so much by telling him. And so, he turned, looked straight into his eyes and said 'Hello Jonas. I'm Isak.'

He had learned a few weeks later that the blond, blotchy-faced boy was called Magnus, and the three of them bonded over their suppers. Their beds were all together in a row, and they would often sit up talking when one of them couldn't sleep. However, the roof was Jonas and Isak's special place. They weren't supposed to go up there, but they'd never once been caught. It started one night when Isak felt so utterly overwhelmed- for a reason that he couldn't pinpoint, that he had climbed up the side of the crumbling building and sat and sobbed. Jonas, who had woken up when he heard Isak get up beside him had followed. He saw the boy, shaking and helpless, and held him until he could no longer cry. It eventually became a routine. They would get up silently and comfort each other. Sometimes it was Isak, sometimes it was Jonas. Two broken boys. In the morning, they wouldn't speak about it and Magnus never found out. He was too busy snoring to be disturbed by their trips. Isak was sure that Magnus had his own demons, but he expressed them differently. His jokes and familiar grinning face would always cheer him up, but nobody was there for him like Jonas was. It all changed when Jonas met Eva.

'Right, boys to the banquet hall, girls to the stables. Hurry now!'  
Magnus drooped. He had been struggling with his back for a few weeks now, and it was really taking a toll on him. All of them had their own problems, blisters, bruises and aches- but to see their cheery friend in his sorry state meant they knew that it was bad. And the banquet hall meant one thing- scrubbing the floors on your hands and knees. Neoptolemus did not tolerate ignorance. A few of the slaves had the scars to answer for that. Inside the gilded doors they were obedient boys who kept their heads down and their hands busy. 

They worked in the hall for the next four days. It was surprisingly huge, considering Neoptolemus was not the type to invite guests over for a feast. By now, their hands were red-raw and stinging from all the oil. The masters certainly weren't playing around. The palace hadn't needed so much attention for as long as Isak could remember. They hadn't been told who was visiting, only that it was royalty from some far off land, and that, they weren't even certain that they would come. Isak scoffed when he heard, then played it off as a cough when he got some pointed glares. All this effort? It may as well be Zeus arriving on their doorstep. 

Eventually a week passed although it felt like months. It was a hot, dry afternoon when the messenger came galloping to the palace, neglecting the paved path for a faster route. They all saw him coming and everyone was on edge. He collapsed at the door, panting so damn hard they thought he would pass out. (Later, he did.) He looked up to the flustered king, eyes wide with fear and said 'He's coming. Right now.'

\------------

The female servants were rushed off to be dressed in finery, specially made for the visitor. They had never before been indulged in such luxuries, but, to put it lightly, Neoptolemus had to display what he could offer the king. If a few pretty girls could sway his fancy, it only made his job easier. The older boys were sent to line the corridors and offer any service the King could ask for, but none of the three made the cut. William and Christoffer were the only two boys they knew well that went. Apparently, tonight they could not afford any mishaps. Neoptolemus was completely out of his depth inviting this man onto his lands. Isak and the rest of the youngsters were set the tasks of preparing food for the banquet that would take place later that evening. He sat on the dusty floor, in the process of butchering a slab of pig when the whole kitchen tensed at the clamour outside. The chariot wheel shuddered up to the front entrance. The visitor had been in no rush to attend the palace. They heard Neoptolemus' agitated voice stumbling over his words (it was unusual for him to be intimated, Isak noted) followed by a sound that stopped Isak in his tracks. It was a deep, amused chuckle. The man clearly had his master wrapped around his finger whether he liked it or not.

After he feast had been prepared, Isak was free to roam until it was time to serve. He was headed for the quarters when William and Christoffer walked past him mid conversation and he couldn't help but listen in knowing they were talking about the visitor.  
'-terrifying, I couldn't bare to even take a glance. The king's on edge, so there's definitely something riding on this...'  
'I heard he killed his parents for the crown-'  
Terrifying? Now that just made him nervous. Isak was not naive; he knew a lot of men did a lot of things for the crown, but killing one's own parents? How could he live with himself, he thought bitterly, when there were plenty of people like Isak who had never even met theirs. It was selfish, selfish and so very unfair. 

As his mind wandered, his feet did too and he soon found himself at the very edge of the King's land near a stream. He often spent time here when he could get away from it all. As far as he knew, none of the other slaves knew this place existed or they just hadn't bothered to venture down this far. They were often... busy in the evenings, nowadays, and that included Jonas. 

He didn't realise that the sun was beginning to set until he noticed the orange was melting into the clouds. Isak pulled his tunic over his head. It was plain, solid brown in colour with a gold woven trim and he hated the way it looked on him. It made him look pale- paler than normal, which was saying something. Of course it worked for Jonas who was olive skinned and dark haired, the very definition of a Greek. He didn't like to admit it but he was jealous. He'd lived here all his life and was still as white as linen. He actually burnt in the sun- burnt. It was ridiculous. To Isak, it was just another thing that made him feel out of place. Sighing, he combed his fingers through his curls- now that was one thing he wasn't jealous of- Jonas' unruly hair. Satisfied that he was clean enough he slipped on his sandals and hurried off towards the hall, conscious of the quickly disappearing sunlight outside.

'You're late 221!' his master spat, 'find me afterwards. You'll regret humiliating me. Grab those plates and move it.'  
He picked up the silver platters of carved meat and entered. His hands were shaking. He had tried so hard to avoid punishment in the past, but as a boy now 16 he was ever so restless in the palace and was getting sloppy with his timings. When he waked through the carved doors he took in a sharp breath of surprise. He'd never seen it so vibrant and full of life (not that they served in here very often). Neoptolemus had pulled out all the stops with the dancers, music and fine treasures on display. Eager to avoid the attention for being so late, he carefully placed down the food and slowly walked backwards, trying to hide in the curtains that lined the hall. Luckily the dances were in full swing, and they managed to mask his movements. His eyes found Jonas, who hadn't spared him a glance. He breathed a sigh in relief that he was safe- there was no way his friend would know of the punishment that awaited him that night- which spared him the lecture that would've ensued. 

Shit, he thought. Forget Jonas- what about the visitor? He raised his head, ever so slightly, intending to catch a glimpse. Instead, he was met with a pair of eyes- startlingly blue and lined thickly with kohl- trained on him. The man lounged in his throne, one arm slung lazily over the armrest. He wore a long, black tunic, richly embellished with jewels shaped like stars. He was tanned and long limbed, exotic and inviting. The crown he wore sat lopsided on his head, and it glistened under the candlelight, but his hair was somehow like liquid gold, a few strands spilling underneath the rim, the rest peeking out of the top. He was the most beautiful man- person, more truthfully, that Isak had ever seen. Surely, he must be a god, he thought. This man cannot be mortal. 

Neither one of them could break their gaze. The servant boy didn't know whether it was out of fear, or awe.  
'Evinius, King Of Scherie!' The herald announced, snapping them out of the moment as Isak flinched. They hadn't realised that the music had stopped. He looked back shyly at the man, who was still staring, and who then, slowly but deliberately, raised both his eyebrows. What was that supposed to mean?

Isak was clueless, and a little flustered. The harp commenced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very aware that this fic will be nowhere near historically accurate, but I take Classical Civ and wanted to combine my passions. Hope you are up for the ride.  
> -scorpionfish


	2. Fool's Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorta Even's pov, with a little parallel that I couldn't resist making.

Even hadn't planned on coming to the palace. When the messenger arrived a few days ago he had every intent to laugh in his face and send him back running. The guards at the border had certainly roughed him up- he was clear that he didn't want visitors- but the man somehow weaselled his way in. It must be important, he thought, if he had the nerve to show up. 

Things were different in Scherie than the rest of Greece. They were innovators, involved in trade with other countries, gaining riches from business rather than battle. That didn't mean that they weren't warriors though- their army was one of the strongest. And despite what people assumed, Even didn't keep his people trapped. Being trapped was one of his biggest fears. He was alone because he wanted to be, not because he had to. 

It was, however, a rule that if someone decided to leave, they weren't allowed to return. He needed the distance, the enigma of his identity to stay alive so that Scherie wouldn't be threatened. It worked for the most part and he grew to like the rumours that spread of him, of his land, his reign. He thrived off it. When they called him mad, barbaric- he didn't take it personally. If it meant people stayed away, so be it.

So reluctantly, he had read the message sent by Neoptolemus. It was quite the embarrassing grovel, coming from a self-proclaimed hero. Apparently, he was on the brink of a war (when was he not) and needed Even's support to scare off the other side. His pride prevented him from backing down and that didn't come as a surprise to Even. The reward was what perked his interest. The foolish king was going to pay him handsomely, just to show his face. He could do with getting out of the palace anyway. 

He'd left in a rush because he had wanted to cause a stir. He liked his grand entrances and was often described as extravagant by the elders, something he took on the chin. Now he made sure he had the finest drapery in the land, gold-set jewels for each of his fingers and sometimes he even wore make up. His father would have had a fit if he could see him now, but none of that really mattered. He was a good King. Sometimes spontaneous perhaps, but a thoughtful and fair ruler. He made sure the hungry were fed and the children were educated. He had earned this people's respect despite his father's insistence of his failure.

He called on his fastest charioteer and closest friend Yousef to take him to Neoptolemus immediately.  
'I don't know why out of of all Kings you want to visit that one,' he had pointed out 'He doesn't seem the friendly type.'  
'And I do?' retorted Even.  
'You just like to keep to yourself. It's part of your image!'  
Even and Yousef had grown up together, as Yousef's father was the chief stable-hand at the palace before the boy himself.  
He was one of the few people who wasn't scared off by his title and could dish it back out without the worry of exile.

It had taken two days for them to arrive at the palace, and he was already beginning to think it wasn't worth the wait. He was greeted buy a stocky, bearded, red-faced man who claimed to the King but Even wasn't convinced. His first reaction was to laugh, thinking that this was some kind of joke. This was Achilles' son? He had no glamour, and no presence (except for his strong odour). But he'd been ushered in before he could change his mind. Suck it up, he thought to himself, you're here on business terms. 

It was much more difficult than he anticipated. There were slaves everywhere. Even wasn't used to being followed- sure he had slaves of his own, but they kept out of his way. Neoptolemus had insisted that a troupe of older boys were never more than a few meters away, and he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping. These were not his slaves and he couldn't afford to be disrespectful. 

It was after hours of drabble and forced friendliness from the older man before he had a chance to breathe. In celebration of his visit, Neoptolemus had explained, they would hold a massive feast later that evening. That's more like it, he thought. He could cope with drinking and dancing. Feeling a little more upbeat, he changed into his finery and smudged a little black under his eyes. He had a reputation to uphold, didn't he? 

The evening kicked off with the entrance of some rather scantily-clad women, who eyed him up rather suggestively. He sighed inwardly at the fact that Neoptolemus couldn't be less subtle if he tried. He knew how these things worked, and he didn't care for it. 

Even had no lover. Never had. It wasn't uncommon for people like Neoptolemus, married with children, to shamelessly sleep around. But Even didn't see the point. Why all the rituals, the blessings, the traditions, when they would be broken within a few weeks? 

It was then that the slaves started entering the hall, each bringing food and instruments and wine in decorated jars. The harpist began his song, and so the dances commenced. Each of the girls wore a thin veil that covered their face and they were dressed like noblewomen yet Even knew that they were nothing but serving girls. None of them had true confidence in their step as a princess would- instead they tiptoed around each other, wary, keeping their heads bowed. It was a pretty show, he could admit, and they did seem to be enjoying themselves. Two of them, one blonde the other red haired, loosened up a little and were giggling and smiling caught up in the moment. Even felt himself smiling too.

Just as he was beginning to relax, his breath caught in his throat. A young boy had just entered the banquet hall, and Even couldn't take his eyes away. He wasn't short, but he was slight, and his hands were visibly shaking. 

Was he scared of something? Scared of him? 

Atop his head was a golden mess of curls that seemed to hide his tentative eyes. And he was pale in complexion, so pale he may as well have been sculpted out of the finest marble. His cheeks were blushed the palest pink, and they matched the sweetest lips that Even had ever seen. In this light he seemed to glow like an angel, and Even wasn't sure if he actually was one. Fuck, he breathed, wasn't this man beautiful? 

As if noticing his stare, the servant boy's eyes snapped up to meet his. Now, they stood a good length away, but his eyes, his eyes, were captivating- and locked on his. Maybe Even shouldn't be making any rash decisions to leave.

\-----  
The night was now in full swing, and frustratingly for Even, the boy was actively avoiding his gaze. He couldn't help but notice that he kept glancing over at another curly haired servant, with thick bushy eyebrows and a kind smile. 

They had already eaten- well, Neoptolemus and himself, and the food had been delicious. He hadn't tasted food like this for years. It reminded him of his Mamma.

Determined to relax, he had drunk a little more than normal tonight, and it seemed to be working. He was feeling a little hazy, that was until the boy crossed his view and his stomach would drop just a fraction.

A few hours in, after the dancing women had had a rest, they began again,and this time were asking for partners. Finally! He cheered to himself. Even loved to dance. He had to restrain himself from leaping out of his seat (he didn't want to appear a fool), but casually made his way onto the floor. Most of the girls backed off, unconsciously intimidated. Even tried not to be offended. He wasn't really surprised- he stood at nearly six and a half feet (and was even taller with his hair styled) and most of the women looked as young as sixteen. Still, he approached one with tanned skin and unconventionally short hair, and held out his hand which she took with a shy smile. The boy from earlier, turns out, partnered with the redhead rather reluctantly.  
'Eva,' he heard him whisper (fuck, his voice was lower than he expected), 'please don't make me do this...'  
'Shh Isak! Just this once, you know that Jonas is too drunk and I can't be without a partner.'

It was interesting that Neoptolemus let them use each others' names. But that was besides the point- his name was Isak. Isak. It was pronounced a little strangely, but was beautiful all the same. he couldn't talk with a name like Evinius. Isak. He sounded like an angel too.

The dance began. Even had always been confident in character, and so he whirled the girl around in his arms without any hesitation. It seemed that Neoptolemus was delighted as he began clapping and cheering, as did the others watching who were clearly impressed. The girl let out a giggle as he held her waist, spinning to the music. He noticed that the other pairs weren't nearly as enthusiastic; Isak looked positively petrified and was stiff as a board against his partner. The last sequence approached, and to end it on a dramatic note he pulled the girl flush against him, one hand on her lower back, the other on her neck. Slowly, he looked up and to his surprise, Isak was staring right at him, a little wide eyed, but looking all the same. 

His hands were on Eva's, but his eyes were on him. Even was pretty sure his stomach dropped. He was even prettier up close. 

\------------

Isak could not get out of the hall fast enough despite what he knew was coming. He had been on edge all night, all because of that man, that alluring king that wouldn't stop staring. And then Eva had pulled him into the dance all because Jonas was letting loose (how he got away with that, he had no idea) and he had been forced to awkwardly clutch her as King Evinius stole the fucking show. Of course he partnered with Sonja- she was the forward type. But fucking hell, he held her so intimately that Isak felt like he shouldn't be watching. And yet he couldn't resist of course. 

That didn't explain why the king too had stared him down. Did he see him as a threat or something? It's not like Isak was particularly intimidating. That man was the definition of intimidating.

Isak was making his way to the slave quarters, as he'd promised the master to pay a visit. By that, he meant, receive his punishment. He had gone years avoiding it after Jonas was beat to a bloody pulp when he was thirteen for stealing food from the kitchens. Jonas wasn't greedy, no, it had been for a girl who had just given birth- but Neoptolemus didn't like to waste his food on his slaves. Jonas, as always, had been willing to take the risk: he was the people's hero, and had gotten away with a lot more. He had once told him how he thought that food and wealth should be shared out equally, but Isak had laughed him off with an 'if only, if only.' 

Isak didn't consider himself brave. Especially as his hands were shaking for the second time today. The slave master had never liked Isak. He would go easy on William and Christoffer (172 and 186) because they were strong and relentless- good, competent workers. Isak was a skinny little thing who had over time gained muscle, but he was definitely leaner than the others. Magnus, despite being a similar age, was broad like the older boys because he killed time by fighting and lifting things. 

Isak simply didn't have the energy at the end of the day, nor the week, nor the month. He doubted he would ever feel truly rested. Time wore him down. He was fast though. He was agile. Running made him feel like a free man. Too bad he wasn't brave enough to run away from here. 

He was summoned to a small room which the master had all to him self, and tried to to flinch when the man grabbed him by the neck and shoved his mouth to his ear.  
'Do you know how bad you made me look in front of the King?' he snarled. He wasn't looking for an answer, despite his lies. Isak was pretty sure that everyone was drunk and that no one had noticed. In fact, he could smell the wine of the masters breath that was spitting the words in to his neck. That wasn't a good sign.  
'I guess I'll just have to return the favour.'  
What?  
His fist connected with the boy's face. Once, twice, three times. Isak 's head was spinning and thrumming and he felt like screaming but the sound was stuck in his throat. Obedient. I must be obedient. The thought drilled into his skull.

I guess I deserve that, he thought reluctantly, slowly dragging himself off the ground. The main room was rowdy by now, the other servants loud and reckless in the confines of the quarters. As he weaved through them all he pried his eyes away from those who were shamelessly moving under the sheets. This was nothing new, but it didn't mean he wanted to see it, especially if it was a couple that looked suspiciously like Jonas and Eva. 

He found an empty corner, nose pressed against the dirt wall, and was out within seconds. Sleep was a small victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gonna be a slow burn... but an intense one I hope. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think!  
> -scorpionfish


	3. Cowardice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first touch of something he couldn't quite place.

'Shit, Is, what happened to your face?'  
Jonas' words broke him from his sleepy haze.  
'Was it 234?' Julian. He was another problem.  
'Nei...' he drawled out in reply. 'Not him. Look, it doesn't matter, it'll heal.'  
'I don't care about that, Is, I need to know who-'  
'Boys! Stables!' the master cut him off. Isak wasn't going to tell Jonas the truth because he didn't want to rile him up and potentially cause more trouble. But fucking hell, his face throbbed. He could taste still taste the bitter blood on his lips, and his eyes felt swollen and heavy. The bruise across his jaw stung in mockery. Man up, he scolded himself, don't be so pathetic. 

He had overheard that now that the initial celebrations were over, the negotiations between the two kings would begin. He doubted Neoptolemus had a chance at winning the Phaecaian over as he was too proud for his own good. The gods didn't like that.

The stables meant Neoptolemus was going out riding later today. It meant scrubbing and scraping horse dung until your hands blistered and back was sore. It meant another day of relentless work- but what was new? The servants slept and worked in the same itchy clothes that resembled grain sacks- yesterday's tunic was a relief. But the serving girls, were dressed up like noblewomen, like princesses, and that black finery of the king's- so unusual and yet so exotic- was the pinnacle of luxury. Isak was given food, and a place to sleep. Those were his earnings.

It was after many solid hours before they were allowed to call it a day. They were lucky to be let off for the evening, the kings still apparently deep in discussion. Eva had visited them around midday and told them that she overheard a lot of shouting from Neoptolemus- not that his voice was hard to miss. 

The other boys headed for the quarters, ready to settle down for the night, distracted by girls and some wine they had pinched from last night. Not wanting to be involved and needing some time to himself, Isak set off running and found himself by the stream that he visited whenever he could. In the dusty, dry restraints of the palace, this place was like paradise. The stream didn't run very fast and it was empty of fish, but it was clear and cool and he often paddled to restore his sore feet. Nobody ever came out this far. That was, until now. 

Isak had been washing his fee,t that were caked in dust, down by the bank when he heard a horse galloping furiously, growing louder with every second. In a panic, he jumped to his feet and scrambled up the tree. (He'd never done that before, so it was a relief when he actually made it a few meters off the ground.) If someone was here, either a slave or someone more important, he'd be in serious trouble. As far as he know there were no rules against it. But the masters would use any excuse to 'demonstrate their discipline', as they liked to put it, and after last night he couldn't take another beating.

At first when the stallion approached he thought it was a rogue, one that had escaped from the stables. But no, there was a man riding it. Pure determination was etched in his features and something glinted in his hair. He sat hunched with anger, hands strong and quick on the whip, dark fabric flowing out behind him. Fuck. It was the king. 

The stallion slowed down when he reached the bank. Isak was just a few metres away, clinging to the branches, and was frozen in fear- not brave enough to breathe. The man climbed off the horse with ease but was pacing within seconds, pulling at his hair with his hands and mumbling under his breath, something along the lines of respect, trade and stupidity. In reality, Isak could comprehend very little of what he said, learning his words from the other slaves around him. It would be a waste of time for the king to educate his slaves, apparently. 

Isak wasn't heavy, but he knew the branches couldn't hold his weight. Much to his anticipation and horror, it dipped under him and let out a long, loud groan. Shit, shit, shit, he thought, maybe I could climb higher or- 

The king swivelled on his feet, eyes scanning the tree until they landed on him: the beautiful slave boy, hidden behind the leaves, eyes wide and lips parted in apprehension. This is it, Isak thought, I'll be dead by tomorrow. But the king didn't look angry. More surprised, eyebrows raised like they had been the night before, a question in his eyes. 

'You should come down.' his voice was deeper than Isak was expecting. He spoke his works carefully, weighted and slow.

Accepting his fate, Isak stumbled down the tree, his hands shaking yet again. Coward. He landed on the ground clumsily. He didn't wish to get any closer to the man so he stayed where he was, and simply hung his head in submission. The king instead came forward and he towered over Isak. With his bowed head, Isak's eyes were in line with his hands. His long tanned fingers were circled by leather bands, and one of which he raised. Isak flinched in preparation for a hit, but after a baited breath he realised it wasn't coming. The hand ghosted on his swollen chin, testing the waters before resting it on his cheek, cool and rough, and firm- and dangerously close to his neck. Isak could feel himself lean into it, despite every instinct in his brain that told him to run. 

Isak was no longer breathing. 

Who knew a a single touch could soothe his soul and yet, set it alight?

The man raised his head, gently, easing, until they were face to face; as much as their height difference would allow. The older man was just as beautiful as Isak had remembered from the night before, if not more so. The remnants of his make up were smudged around his eyes, but he looked tired, full lips parted, eyes confusingly tender.  
'What happened to your face?' he breathed. 

But Isak was a coward. He was terrified of this man and his intentions and what his touch was doing to him. So he took a step back, forced his eyes away from his face, spun on his heels and ran. 

He had only gotten a few metres away when he heard a single word that made him stop in his tracks.  
'Isak...' It came out like a plead.  
Isak turned back. How did the king know his fucking name? He wasn't meant to even have one. So he shook his head at the man furiously, as if he could convince him to forget it, and legged it to the palace.

\------------

Isak. Isak. He'd been there, sat in a fucking tree, and watched him nearly tear his hair out. 

Neoptolemus, he'd decided, was an absolute fool and didn't deserve his help. He spent his life declaring wars but now that the roles were reversed, he was pathetic. Wanted to back out of the fight but refused to let his pride be hurt. Concluded that Even's men should fight for him, and that it would be a honour if they were to die for Achilles' son. 

Even hated him. He hadn't built up his kingdom from the dust that his father had left it in to send his best warriors to fight for this pompous, red-faced twit. Elias, Mutta and Adam were the best there was, and there was no way he'd ask them to do this, no matter how much money Neoptolemus offered. No way.

But Isak had been there. Isak had calmed him down. Even had nearly laughed when he spotted him between the branches, awkwardly crouched and trying to shield himself with leaves, as if that would help. Isak whose head drooped out of forced courtesy as Even had called him down. Isak who flinched when he had rested his hand against his cheek. Who swayed into his touch as if he'd never been touched before. 

Whose soft green eyes questioned his every move. Whose face was red and purple and swollen. Even could feel the anger burning up his chest.  
'What happened to your face?' He almost didn't want to know the answer. 

Isak didn't give him one. He ran. Ran away from Even. He was scared of him, and that hurt his heart just a little. 

Still he called out for him, not knowing what possessed him to do so. That had startled him even more. 

Isak whose head shook with conviction and fright when he heard his name. Isak, who was gone.

Even was beyond frustrated. He hadn't had this much to deal with in months, and it was a little overwhelming for him. He knew he had to go back and face Neoptolemus: he couldn't hide forever. But he couldn't bear to think of his friends reactions, if he did command them to fight. They didn't deserve it, and yet somewhere in his heart he knew that regardless, they would do it without question. He had never encountered more loyal and selfless men. It was rare to find a soldier without a mind of his own, who wasn't in it for the glory or the money. His boys had honour. Respect. 

Luckily, Even had escaped before Neoptolemus could witness his tantrum. Smug bastard, he thought, thinks he can bribe and guilt trip me into submission. If Even was going to help for any reason, it certainly wouldn't be for that poor excuse of a king.

As Even walked around the King's grounds, he couldn't help but notice the slaves milling around. One boy- dark and frizzy haired, pushed a wheelbarrow of grain out towards the town, supposedly to sell them at the market. He decided that later, once the discussions had finished for the day, he would retrace the boys steps and explore the markets himself. 

What did this place specialise in? Was grain all they had to offer? Scherie, naturally, was in the textiles business, so Even always had the finest drapery. Some of his clothes he had even designed himself, and he had even requested rare dyes from all over Greece in order to create the black tunic that he liked to wear. It was so unlike anything else- so striking and daring- Even loved it. Loved the impression that clothes could make. 

The slaves here were practically dressed in rags. It seemed Neoptolemus couldn't care less for decoration or design- or human decency. Some of the boys tunics came above their knees- a laughable fashion choice. Of course, he knew that the slaves had no say in the matter, that their tunics were simply too small because they were becoming men. And the tunics were beige- they practically matched the colour of the dust. Why was it that the women got to wear the bright colours? Boys should be allowed to look pretty too. 

Even couldn't help but think that a certain boy was pretty, even in beige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exams are done, and writing takes priority, yay!  
> thanks for all the bookmarks, comments and kudos on these first few chapters, it means a great deal.  
> -scorpionfish


	4. Into the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a pining and protective Even realizes he's a little obsessed.

Isak was restless. When was he not? The palace had little to offer entertainment wise, (not that they were supposed to leave it) and the boys were little more than hormonal teenagers. On the rare occasion, they managed to sneak out past the guards (or rather, bribed their friend Mahdi, they were not that sly) and go to the night market.

More drinking, more dancing, more flirting and more pressure. Jonas was practically the master of wooing women at this point- he'd been with half the girls in the palace- slaves and noblewomen alike, before settling with Eva. And it wasn't a bad thing because Isak knew that Jonas was a good guy, respectable and mature. 

Magnus, on the other hand was not so smooth when it came to the opposite sex. Desperate, was how he'd describe it, and not many girls liked desperate. It was Vilde that he liked, a blonde, sweet, somewhat naïve girl- a little weird. Perhaps they would match. But the thing was, the boys revolved around the girls, and quite frankly Isak was sick of it.

None of the girls had any appeal to him. They were all too... round. Feminine. He wasn't entirely sure. It wasn't like he hadn't tried, but it made him feel a little sick when he thought about kissing them. In all honesty, Isak was lonely. He was tired, and lonely, and tired of being lonely. 

But the man- the king- fuck, he was a sight for sore eyes. He had stirred something inside of Isak's bones, something he wasn't quite sure he would ever feel. And he was so tall- taller than Isak (and that was rare). So intimidating, and yet inviting. 

He could feel the pull in his chest. He knew it was a dangerous one. He knew it was a dangerous attraction. Isak couldn't deny that last night he had felt more alive than he had in his 16 years of living combined.

But tonight, apparently, was one of those nights, where they would pay a little visit to Mahdi, and get with girls.  
'Why not?' he replied when Jonas had mentioned it to him. He needed to forget for a while.  
\------------  
It was late, later than he'd been awake in a while, for Even liked his routine. Earlier he had managed to steal a cloak that had been left lying around, and although it wasn't quite long enough to obscure his tall frame, it would have to do. He couldn't risk being recognised, so he flattened his hair, drew up the hood and took off his sandals, as barefoot was common amongst normal citizens. There were guards pacing the palace walls but Even was prepared with a few gold coins to sway their fancy. Forget morals, he needed to get out of the palace before he exploded.

He's been given his own private room, thanks to his title and as a form of bribery. Luckily Neoptolemus wasn't disrespectful enough to guard his corridor so he crept out quite easily. Following in the footsteps of the boys he had seen leave a few minutes ago (one suspiciously looking like Isak, his blonde curls a beacon in the black) Even crept out to the gate.  
'Halt,' a guard on his approach, 'what business do you have awaiting on the other side?'  
'I'm a tradesman, sir,' Even had never called anyone 'sir' but his father. 'I made a delivery to the palace just this morning.'  
'Identification?' The shorter man sounded pretty tired, but he had caught him out and he couldn't risk his cover being blown.  
'Look, take this and forget this ever happened.' He held offered his closed fist to the man, then revealed 3 polished gold coins.  
That perked him up. He took the coins quickly, and glanced up at Even quizzically with a grin on his face.  
'I'm Madhi. Make sure it's me you come to next time and I'll sort you out.' Patting Even on the back, he opened the gate, and with a 'Enjoy your evening, sir.' Mahdi was back in position, stoic as ever.

Well that was easy. And it looks like I have a new friend, Even thought to himself, amused.

He was heading down a narrow street, following the murmur of the night when he first got approached. The woman walked confidently, slowly, slightly on her toes as if to make herself seem taller. She had reached Even in no time, caressed his shoulder with her hand, close, intoxicating, a little too close for comfort.  
'Now where are you going, on an evening like this?' 

It came out like a purr, but a forced one at that. Beneath her make up, Even couldn't help but notice her tired eyes that were caught between a sultry stare and drooping from exhaustion. He had no interest in what she was offering, but he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. On the streets she was exposed, but that clearly didn't stop her. Was it family? Debt? Whatever it was, Even sighed inwardly, knowing that he wouldn't leave with half of what he came with.

'If you could show me where I might buy a drink, I'd be most grateful.' her eyes brightened, thinking he was offering her one. She took him by the arm, pulled him through the crowds to the back of the market which was bustling with drunkards and gamblers alike. 

He turned to her. 'I'm afraid I'm busy tonight,' Her smile dropped, 'but you deserve a night off.' He dropped a handful of coins into her small hand.  
'Keep them safe, okay?' To Even, a few coins meant nothing. But to a girl like her, this was weeks worth of survival. 

'I will, I promise I will! Thank you, thank you-' she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and took off, luckily in another direction than the one they just came from. What kind of place was this?

He had spotted Isak as soon as he walked into the square. How could he not? The boy was beautiful, and Even had always been a sucker for beautiful things. 

He was part of a circle of boys, all dressed in the same beige tunic- all slaves then. But the conversation seemed to pass over his head, and he didn't utter a word nor crack a smile when they burst into laughter. His wine cup was fixed to his lips and he gulped every few seconds, at an impressive but alarming rate. 

Even admired from afar, not daring to get closer. In his cloak he blended in rather well, and he was glad for the disguise, and the circumstances that meant he could stare so openly without being caught. 

It meant he could stare at his sweet lips as they pressed against the rim of his cup. It meant he could stare when they parted to take a sip. It meant he could stare when he swallowed it down, and when a dark droplet ran slowly down his chin, having just missed his mouth.

It took everything for Even not to run over and wipe it off with his thumb, or to lick it off or- he had to stop himself. This was getting out of control. Isak was a servant, bound to his king. Isak was afraid of him. And Isak was a boy.  
The night went on, and gradually the people surrounding him dispersed around the square. Isak was alone, as he most often was. 

Even was enjoying his evening. Despite the number of people milling around, this place was far less suffocating than the palace, and he was quite content to be sipping on his wine and observing life around these parts. Things were wilder in Scherie- banquets and celebrations would often last for days. The change of pace was a welcome one.

Even was so caught up in is thoughts that he didn't recognise Isak approaching. His kylix was empty and he was placing it down on the side, presumably ready to go. He looked around, exasperated, when he realised that his friends had deserted him, many having left entwined with another, into the night. 

The streets were dangerous at this time. After his experience earlier, Even could guess what went down along with the sun. Isak's tunic branded him a slave, and some people had problems with royalty. Even didn't plan on speaking to him tonight, but something in his heart told him not to let Isak walk alone.

He could tell that Isak was a little drunk, even if he hadn't seen how much he'd been drinking. There was a sway to his walk- he somehow made it look delicate, graceful. Most men at that point would have been clumsy and heavy-footed, but not Isak. Isak was a beauty, even in his drunken state. His brows were knitted together with thought, and Even simply couldn't ignore the way his nose scrunched up too. (He'd be thinking about that for days after.)

This was it now, he had to step in. So he pulled his cloak around him a little tighter, and had reached him within a few strides. Even was a king, a feared, mighty king. So why was he nervous? 

'Halla,' he began, 'if you wouldn't mind, could you direct me to the palace? I have business there tomorrow, and I don't wish to be late. Please don't feel obliged, it's just-'

'Of course, sir, I'd be happy to.' He was back to his polite, submissive facade.

Even hated that he couldn't speak to Isak like a stranger from the square. He had made up the tale so that he wouldn't come across as having bad intentions and he it was easier this way. Isak thought he was doing a favour, and Even could protect him from the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, this one's short. I promise things will start picking up soon, just hang on in there for that slow burn.  
> -scorpionfish


	5. Ocean Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a continuation of the last chapter's meeting... feat. shit wine

Slavery was cruel and gruelling, but as far as Isak knew, so was life. So when the stranger asked him to take him to the palace, he was determined not to mess it up, or disclose the fact that he was wasted. Pfft. Isak was the master at acting. No one would ever notice. 

The night had gone exactly as he had imagined it, down to a t. Magnus was overexcited but somehow got lucky when a girl approached him. He'd been waiting all his life for it to happen, it really was incredible to watch, but of course, it had to happen tonight. Tonight, when Isak really could have done with a friend: a silly, lovable one to cheer him up. 

(Just the other week they had nearly woken up the entire quarters from laughter when Magnus sat up in the dead of night with a terrifying urgency to ask Jonas: 'But, how do you go down on girls? Could you explain-' before receiving a 'Dude...' from the embarrassed curly haired boy.)

Jonas, somehow, seemed to be friends with every guy in the square and Isak had no idea how he had met them all. He only recognised Elias, a dark haired, tall boy who had taken a few digs at Isak a few weeks ago (and therefore was hard to forget) and who swung an arm around Jonas like they were old buds, before they joined up with another group. 

Isak would find out later who they were, and he would wish that he had never let Jonas leave with them. 

At least the fact that he was on his own meant that no one could hold him accountable for how much he was drinking. Jonas normally got annoying and protective, sending him accusatory looks with each gulp, as he was the only one in the room that could tell that Isak wanted to get absolutely hammered, and that he wasn't actually a casual drinker. At least tonight he had left himself, and that saved Isak spitting out a 'Piss off!' when Jonas tried to wrench his cup out of his grip. 

Isak hadn't considered that his friends were also his accomplices in their night time escapades, and like hell he could make it back to the quarters without disturbing the guards. He had lost sight of both of them at this point, and was starting to panic. He felt a little pathetic, too. What had began in defiance ended up in stupidity. He couldn't afford to lose his position at the palace; it was all he had ever known.

And then, out of nowhere, a cloaked man had caught up to him. He was tall and waifish, barefoot and a little conspicuous looking with his hood drawn up all the way. It shielded his face, and the dark wasn't helping Isak recognise him either, although he guessed he could half-blame that on the alcohol. 

It was only when he spoke that he dared to properly look at Isak. He seemed a little apprehensive, but his eyes were grounding. Isak was convinced that they had met before because of the sharp, startling blue, but he just couldn't place it. So when the stranger asked him to take him to the palace, he simply couldn't refuse. It was part of his job, he told himself. He ignored the part that said he was entranced.

Isak took the lead and he didn't dare to look back, reassured only by the steady, heavy rhythm of the man's steps behind him. The air was tense and thick with worry and Isak hadn't really considered the possibility that this could be a dangerous, that he could be walking into some sort of trap, but the man kept his distance, plus- he knew him. He had to.

'That wine tasted like shit.' 

(Even wasn't lying. Pretentious as it was, he had a taste for the finer stuff. The wine he'd been drinking earlier had been watered down a ton.)

And that was not what Isak was expecting.

He let out an amused huff, caught off guard.  
'You tend to forget the taste after you've had a few. We're not exactly known around here for the greatest wine, sir. Though I couldn't compare it myself.'

There was a pause.  
'Not travelled far then?' Even questioned, despite knowing the answer.

Isak twisted to face him, gesturing at his slave tunic.  
'I'm pretty sure that the market is the furthest out I've been,' he replied, a twinge of bitterness in his voice and a furrowed brow forming, 'we're not even meant to leave the palace walls.'

Some of the boys lived freely before they were enslaved, but it was all Isak had ever known. 

Even made a note not to push him on the subject. He couldn't even imagine he life Isak had lived. And he was still so young. With his baby face he could have passed for fourteen- it was only in the subtleties: the sharpness of his jaw, the hint of his Adam's apple and his surprising height that confirmed that he wasn't. 

He pondered for a moment. Even was raised in luxury, swaddled in silk, and had travelled to many a land. It made him feel a little bit sick. This boy had only ever ventured out a few hundred feet from the palace. If there was one thing he hated, it was feeling trapped.

Realizing he might of said too much to the man, Isak blurted out,  
'Or I mean, sometimes we are, it's just that,' his drunken brain scrambled for a lie, 'tonight's a little different you see, I'm meant to be here.' He emphasised the 'meant' with a nod of his head. 

It was endearing to Even, witnessing Isak so determined to keep his cool. It was clear he was pretty out of it, especially since the information he'd just disclosed could have quite literally ruined his life, if it were not Even he was speaking to. He smiled to himself and placed a hand on his shoulder in reassurance.  
'Of course, I understand.'

He waited a heartbeat, then lowered his voice to a whisper.  
'My lips are sealed.'

At that, Isak grinned. He had leant his head back to rest on Even's chest unconsciously.  
'Thank youuu sir.' he whispered back.

'Lets get you back, yeah Isak?'  
The boy nodded sleepily, oblivious to the fact that the man knew his name, and that whittled down his search dramatically. 

It took every ounce of concentration for Isak not to actually fall asleep whilst walking back. His whole body was doused in warmth: like when he and Jonas would sleep beside each other, or like a rare hug from Eva, or when they would sit out in the courtyard in the evening sun. 

There was a hand on his waist, gentle but steady, and it guided him forward. It had been a long time since anybody had touched him so tenderly. His feet kept walking, never faltering.

Even had spotted Mahdi from a short way off, and had been steering them in his direction to ensure they made it back unnoticed. 

Even had met many crooks in his lifetime, the dangerous types: ones who would turn their backs quick as a whip. But there was something that reassured him about Mahdi, that he was not the sort. Perhaps it was the way he had grinned at Even. No-one grinned at him any more because they were scared of him! But Mahdi had treated him like any other man looking to escape the confines of the palace. Like a normal man, who could get away with these things, sneak off into the night, before returning to his room before anyone would notice. 

Even never got the chance to do that as a child. Although he wasn't followed constantly, he was spied on. That was partly one of the reasons he had lashed out some years ago.

They were on the final stretch, a mere hundred feet away, when they heard the commotion arise.  
'Get here!' The voice was gruff and muffled, and a figure launched itself at another. It was another guard, judging by the clanging of metal, presumably from their uniforms. It was hard to see in the black, but the person on the floor was scrambling to got away, only to be snatched back into the clutches of the guard. 

Even held Isak back and tried to shield him beneath he fabric of his cloak, as he moved them slowly towards a wall in an effort to go unnoticed. He doubted Isak was even aware of the situation, until he heard him murmur confusedly:  
'Julian?'

Shit. So, that confirmed his suspicions. A slave had been caught trying to re-enter the palace and was now being hauled with the guard back inside. Mahdi, who had too spotted Even before the brawl gestured at him frantically to run past, while the others were distracted, and before he would have to assist with the captured slave. If they had left a few minutes later, they wouldn't have made it across. The palace would have been crawling with guards put on high alert, and Mahdi wouldn't have been able to swing them back through that easily. 

Breathing in sharply, he grabbed Isak's hand. That seemed to wake up the boy.

'Isak, listen, we have to get back.' 

His eyes were wide and panicked. A nod was all Even got in response, and then they were sprinting across the dust, hands clasped tight, logic forgotten. 

When Isak ran, he ran for his freedom. There was always an inexplicable urge, a primitive instinct in him to get out and get as far away from this suffocating place as possible. Never had he imagined that he'd be running so desperately towards his cage.

But he was. And he was pulling Even along with him, as fast as a chariot horse. Perhaps he was Kleobis in another life. 

When they reached the porch, Even thanked the gods for their good fortune. They had made it. They were safe. 

Their hands were still intertwined. But they had to get back to their rooms at the opposite ends of the palace. They both looked down a little bashfully, slowly letting go of one another. Neither had wanted to.

They were panting heavily. Even wondered if he had made a mistake, going out that night. 

But then Isak's mouth formed the sweetest smile, his nose scrunching up with amusement. Even breathed a shy sigh of release. 

And then Isak winked. Fucking winked.

In a split second he had whirled around and was running back towards the slave quarters. 

He's terribly drunk, Even thought to himself. I can't think too much into it. 

But he'd be a liar to deny that he didn't have the biggest smile plastered on his face as he turned and ran back to his room.


	6. The Dread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one takes a dark turn.

There was something in the air that morning. Isak felt it from the moment he woke up to the sound of bitter silence. The slave quarters never slept, much to his weary despair. Someone would be sneaking out, or pacing up and down. Isak had always considered silence to be sweet. A moment to breathe. A rare gift from the gods. Suddenly, the lack of the constant, murmuring white noise was deafening. It made him feel terribly alone. 

He sat up quickly in an unsettled panic, wincing as the dizziness fizzled through his limbs and clouded his thoughts. Wine was no friend of his, oh no. _Dionysus must hate me,_ he thought to himself- and as if in confirmation, a dull throb echoed through his skull. He couldn't help but exclaim in discomfort, stopping short when it felt wrong to break the stillness. 

Jonas was beside him, curly hair wild and ruffled from sleep, Eva tucked soundly under his arm. It was at sights like this his heart would begin to ache. Their affections for one another were painfully obvious, their cheeks blushed, smiles content. A hand stroking her bare back lazily with sleep. Sleep wasn't Isak's friend either. 

He spotted Magnus across the floor, splayed out on his back, the occasional snore punctuating the silence. He had once considered his friends habit to be the culprit for his disturbed nights, but now it was more comfort than anything. A steady, constant reminder. You are not alone. You are not alone.

William, Christoffer, 202, 174- boys who's names he never cared to ask for, were trapping him against his usual wall. He had to climb over them all last night, rather clumsily in his drunken stupor, and now they each lay with their respective women. Honeyed skin, slender bodies, long hair, dark and spiraled. None of whom cared for Isak's affections. Of course not. He wasn't strong like Magnus, or suave like Jonas. Wasn't handsome like William, or effortless like Christoffer. The quarters had once been divided into boys and girls, but that line was swiftly crossed.

As his eyes swept the room, slowly adjusting to the low light, he began to realise that not everyone had made it back last night. He started to check them off in his head. William, Vilde, 174, Jakob, Christoffer, Mari? It was difficult to distinguish the women from where he was sat, if he was honest. Sonja, Eva, Jonas, 202, Emma. 192, 204. Alexander and Julian were missing.

His mind flew back to the events of the previous night. If only he hadn't been adamant on drinking so much! _By the gods, I need to get myself under control,_ he scolded himself. He was in the square, with the boys. Good. Jonas had left with Elias. Not so good, but still. Isak had left with... a man? A man. In a long cloak. Deep voice. Blue eyes. He'd made him laugh.

Isak found himself smiling at the memory. Then it all clicked. They had been sprinting across the sand, past Madhi. There had been a fight, a rush of guards, and- Julian.

Julian and Alexander must have been caught.  
But Isak had made it back to the palace, safe.  
And so had his accomplice, meaning, he too, was living in the palace.

And there was a good chance he'd never see Julian again.

\------------ 

The clanging of the morning bells startled him from his thoughts. Three bells. That was the sign of urgency. They were being summoned to the main hall. 

He reached over to shake Jonas awake.  
'Julian- Alexander, they're gone,' he hissed, 'we've got to go.' Isak was already up, anxious to uncover the truth about previous night. 

The rest of his friends swiftly followed suite. They each filtered into the corridors, being herded like cattle, twisting through the narrow spaces until they reached the gilded, grand doors. For the second time this morning, it was eerily quiet. Only Isak had an inkling about what awaited them on the other side. 

The slave masters on either side began to haul them open- with great effort- as this was usually the guards duty. 

They were greeted with an audience. That's where all the guards stood, positioned along the front of the noblemen and women, wearing their full coats of armour, spears pointed towards the high ceiling. The formers all stood apprehensively, yet in their finery, nevertheless. The sea of colours, bright green, orange, and most of all, gold, was nauseating this early in the day. A few whispered to one another as the slaves shuffled in, drowsy and dirty. 

Behind them, stood another set of guards, who stood to either side of King Neoptolemus himself. The huge brute, red-faced and scowling sat uptight in his wide, stocky throne. There was nothing elegant about supporting a man that big. And to the left of him, was King Evinius, a vision in dark blue and silver, who sprawled on his respective seat, an elbow resting on his knee, his chin perched atop his palm.

Finally, the grand event was on display. At Neoptolemus' sandalled feet lay Julian and Alexander, bruised, bloodied, each with a blade at their throats.

Their King rose, and drew a breath.  
'My guests,' he gestured to Even, 'my people.' He addressed the expectant crowd.

'It's unusual for my mighty self to demonstrate restraint, I know this. Believe me when I say that these lowlifes that you see before me, would not have seen the light of day, if it wasn't for the mercy I have bestowed on them.'

The defeated pair drooped with relief whilst Isak sucked in a sharp breath. _Where was he going with this?_

'As the son of great Achilles, I must honour my father and his people, to be a just ruler over this land. I must have patience, and know that my patience will be reap even greater gifts.' He paused. 'Treasuries aren't filled over night.' 

Neoptolemus and patience weren't words often used within the same sentence. 

'In the same way,' he continued, 'why punish just two slaves, when there is a third to be discovered in the morning?'

And that's when Isak knew. 

Neoptolemus rose and hunched over Julian. The few words exchanged were too quiet to make out, but within a few seconds he was standing once more, and spitting at the guard, who made his way to the slave masters and uttered for the third time, the identity of the damned. 

Isak's hand brushed Eva's, who was trembling beside him. 

The blow came fast, and it was both expected yet unanticipated. In a heartbeat, Isak was on the floor, his face in the dirt, a boot dug into his spine, and a spear caressing his throat.

It took all his willpower for Even not to explode out of his throne, and tackle the guard who's blade held the power of Isak's life. His hands were cured into fists so tight he thought his knuckles might burst. 

_How could I have been so stupid, so reckless- I wasn't fast enough, I shouldn't- Isak, sweet Isak, was going to die._

'221,' Neoptolemus announced slowly, a moment's pause between each number. '234. 228.' Another held breath. 'Considering you aren't satisfied living here in my home, you will be glad to learn that you shall never see it again.'

Even forced himself to think. He couldn't admit outright his desire for Isak- _oh no._ That would obliterate the facade that he'd been crafting for years. He'd be weak, an unworthy King. Even loved the people of Scherie, but he was certain there'd be uproar: some sort of attempt to overthrow his rule, or an invasion if he was no longer deemed as a threat. And if he ruined his reputation, what would he have left? 

Nothing. He would be amount to nothing. Just as his father had predicted. Situations like this just weren't heard of. Weren't allowed. He'd never considered that he could feel this way about another man.

'Guards,' Neoptolemus summoned, his deep voice a thunderclap echoing off the hall's high walls. 'I'd rather not make a mess of my floor, but then again, the rest of them have got to stay occupied, correct?' He wasn't asking for confirmation. No-one dared to speak. 'I wouldn't want them wandering off like these three.' 

He gestured at Isak to come forward, as if he'd be able to stand in his current state. Instead the guard behind him yanked him up by the collar, and began to haul him across the hall. In a moment of strange peace and detachment, he noticed, almost amusedly, that he had left a trail of red in his wake. The wound on his cheek had split open, he realized now, and was thrumming with the rush of blood to his head.  
The moment shattered as he was dropped to the floor once more, all his composure and dignity now gone, as he clutched about the dirt to raise his head, to only collapse, his whole body a picture of forced submission, bowed at royal feet. 

The two boys to his left stared at him. Isak could have sworn he saw Julian's mouth twist into a pained yet satisfied smile. _What mistakes had he made, what wrong had he done, what god had he angered, to deserve this cruelty?_

'Let this serve as a warning. You were born to serve me. And this,' he wavered his hand at the boys, nonchalantly, ''this is what happens when you question that fact.'

With his last ounce of willpower, Isak lifted his chin to meet the eyes of his killer. He was determined to hold his stare in a last act of defiance.

But it was all too intense. He found his gaze slipping to the right, and found another pair of eyes, wide, afraid, conflicted, but blue, oh so blue. 

He let himself drown in the blue. Surrounded by the serenity, by the light in those eyes. The eyes that he knew so well.

He barely registered Neoptolemus' words.

'Slit their throats.' 

He barely registered the sob that ripped out of Eva, or the thud of Jonas dropping to his knees.

Felt the metal tracing his tender skin. 

It was cool and it was cruel.

He felt himself being swallowed by the waves.  
Of the blue Ionian sea.  
And then it was gone.

\------------ 

King Evinius was now standing, a mere few feet away, ablaze with desperation, but somehow composed in the face of Neoptolemus. He turned to face him.

'I have an offer to make.'

The guards hesitated. Looked at one another. Looked towards their King.

'This isn't time for business deals!' he hissed at the taller man, who towered over him and a threat etched in his features. He raised his hand to silence him.

'Scherie will fight for your cause.' he paused. 'But I want them,' he gestured to the boys who lay at his sandalled feet, 'and residence at your palace, in return.'

The look on Neopoletmus' face was incredulous. But he'd be stupid to deny the offer of such a low price. A few slave boys in exchange for glory? He'd take it.

'I accept.'

'Bring them to my room.' he addressed the guards who stood, now confused, at Julian and Alexander's sides. 

And then he leant down beside Isak. Their faces were now mere inches away, but the younger boy's eyes were closed, already having accepted his fate. He found his hand reaching out to caress his cheekbone; it was light enough to be a phantom touch, and obscured from the audience that stood shocked before him. 

His arm found Isak's waist, the other his knees that were curled up to his chest in a position that made him look so fragile, so vulnerable. Gently, he eased the boy into his arms. Felt his cheek softly rest against his chest, over Even's heart that was still pounding with the dread that had sat there heavily from the moment he had woken up. 

He couldn't bear to look at Isak, to see whether his eyes were still closed, or whether he knew what was going on. The King simply lifted his head, practicing his pretend indifference, and made his way through the audience, who parted unconsciously. Then he was out of the grand doors and thrust into the maze of hallways, almost running now, almost running past his room. 

He reached his bed. Gently lowered Isak onto the sheets of silk. The stillness of the boy scared him. But Isak was alive. And Isak was here. He could finally breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't too fond of this chapter when I first started writing it, but now I think I'm proud of it.  
> it's all about practice, that's why I'm doing this.  
> I hope you enjoyed it. I hope it made you feel something. let me know in the comments if it did. <3
> 
> also- I now have a twitter! you can find me at [ scorpionfishAO3 ](https://twitter.com/scorpionfishAO3)
> 
> -scorpionfish

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very aware that this fic will be nowhere near historically accurate, but I take Classical Civ and wanted to combine my passions. Hope you are up for the ride.  
> -scorpionfish


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